and encourage tips. She also became adept at another kind of tap dance, taking a subservient role, flattering her husband and soothing his ego or quieting his temper when he felt ignored by the audience.
In Butte, Montana, the Thurstons shared the bill with Clare Evans and Mabel Maitland, a husband-and-wife dance team. They quickly became friends. Clare was a tall, thin, handsome Texan who performed in blackface with buck-and-wing dancing. Mabel Maitland was the daughter of a Seattle sea captain. Double-jointed, she performed an acrobatic act, and also teamed up with her husband for some dances. Grace noted that there was very little musicality to Mabel’s performances; she “could not carry a tune in a roll of music, and had to watch her timing carefully.” Evans and Maitland were recruited to join the Thurstons for their tour of smaller mining towns. Even more important than their dancing, Clare Evans was an expert horseman and had saved a little money, which he volunteered to finance their adventure. The couples bought a narrow-gauge wagon, reasoning that it would be easier to maneuver through the rough mountain trails, and a team of four sturdy ponies. They stocked the wagon with a tin Klondike stove, pans, kettles, cups, dishes, and sleeping cots, as well as their theatrical trunks and costumes. On the side of the wagon they painted their names and advertised “Thurston’s Original Oddities, High-Class Specialty Artists ... A Show of Great World Interest and Educational Value.”
The wagon set off, pointed west, from Butte on July 1, 1898. It was a ridiculously naïve plan—three dancers and a confidence-man magician setting out as explorers—that became evident just three days later, when they started across the Great Divide and encountered snow. They hadn’t brought a compass or a map; they hadn’t thought to include any heavy clothing or boots.
A rancher advised them to turn back. “The country is rough enough for men on horseback. With that wagon and the women folks, you’ll never make it.” But the women remembered the clientele in the wine rooms that they’d left behind and voted to keep going. Whatever they found ahead, it would have to be better than that. The Evanses and Thurstons slowly negotiated up the slushy mountain trails; Clare drove the team as Mabel, Grace, and Howard walked next to the wheels with chocks so they could block the wheels as they began to skid and slide.
The weather warmed, from winter to summer, as they descended the mountains. Grace recalled that they “crawled” through the west, following rivers or railroads for any sign of civilization and stopping at any outpost and soliciting the local saloon to put on a performance: Southern Cross, Sula, Medicine Springs, Darby, or Hamilton, Montana. Thurston was right. The locals were often starved for entertainment. But he was wrong about the receipts. The audience could only offer bags of flour, lard, or canned food in payment. The four performers, often starved, were happy to accept the food.
Like many entertainers, Thurston came to live for each show, becoming more animated and engaged as he heard the audience assembling on the other side of the curtain. Grace, Clare, and Mabel would stand in the wings, marveling at his easy grace in front of a room full of strangers. He quickly convinced each person in his audience of his friendliness, talent, and quick wit, then worked hard to earn their applause. But during the days, as the performers set off for the next town or foraged for their next meal, Thurston grew nervous and irritable, barely speaking to his companions. Grace felt that the source of his frustration was deep—he was contemplating his stalled career. Now nearly thirty years old, Thurston realized that the inebriated cheers from each small Montana town left him with a sort of egotistical hangover, reminding him each morning why he was just a failure. Grace sensed that her husband had not only lost his patience but
In Butte, Montana, the Thurstons shared the bill with Clare Evans and Mabel Maitland, a husband-and-wife dance team. They quickly became friends. Clare was a tall, thin, handsome Texan who performed in blackface with buck-and-wing dancing. Mabel Maitland was the daughter of a Seattle sea captain. Double-jointed, she performed an acrobatic act, and also teamed up with her husband for some dances. Grace noted that there was very little musicality to Mabel’s performances; she “could not carry a tune in a roll of music, and had to watch her timing carefully.” Evans and Maitland were recruited to join the Thurstons for their tour of smaller mining towns. Even more important than their dancing, Clare Evans was an expert horseman and had saved a little money, which he volunteered to finance their adventure. The couples bought a narrow-gauge wagon, reasoning that it would be easier to maneuver through the rough mountain trails, and a team of four sturdy ponies. They stocked the wagon with a tin Klondike stove, pans, kettles, cups, dishes, and sleeping cots, as well as their theatrical trunks and costumes. On the side of the wagon they painted their names and advertised “Thurston’s Original Oddities, High-Class Specialty Artists ... A Show of Great World Interest and Educational Value.”
The wagon set off, pointed west, from Butte on July 1, 1898. It was a ridiculously naïve plan—three dancers and a confidence-man magician setting out as explorers—that became evident just three days later, when they started across the Great Divide and encountered snow. They hadn’t brought a compass or a map; they hadn’t thought to include any heavy clothing or boots.
A rancher advised them to turn back. “The country is rough enough for men on horseback. With that wagon and the women folks, you’ll never make it.” But the women remembered the clientele in the wine rooms that they’d left behind and voted to keep going. Whatever they found ahead, it would have to be better than that. The Evanses and Thurstons slowly negotiated up the slushy mountain trails; Clare drove the team as Mabel, Grace, and Howard walked next to the wheels with chocks so they could block the wheels as they began to skid and slide.
The weather warmed, from winter to summer, as they descended the mountains. Grace recalled that they “crawled” through the west, following rivers or railroads for any sign of civilization and stopping at any outpost and soliciting the local saloon to put on a performance: Southern Cross, Sula, Medicine Springs, Darby, or Hamilton, Montana. Thurston was right. The locals were often starved for entertainment. But he was wrong about the receipts. The audience could only offer bags of flour, lard, or canned food in payment. The four performers, often starved, were happy to accept the food.
Like many entertainers, Thurston came to live for each show, becoming more animated and engaged as he heard the audience assembling on the other side of the curtain. Grace, Clare, and Mabel would stand in the wings, marveling at his easy grace in front of a room full of strangers. He quickly convinced each person in his audience of his friendliness, talent, and quick wit, then worked hard to earn their applause. But during the days, as the performers set off for the next town or foraged for their next meal, Thurston grew nervous and irritable, barely speaking to his companions. Grace felt that the source of his frustration was deep—he was contemplating his stalled career. Now nearly thirty years old, Thurston realized that the inebriated cheers from each small Montana town left him with a sort of egotistical hangover, reminding him each morning why he was just a failure. Grace sensed that her husband had not only lost his patience but
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